


To Achieve Justice

by TSerpillum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Muteness, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 01:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TSerpillum/pseuds/TSerpillum
Summary: "On the checkerboards there aren’t only black and white fields.Grey ones hid under them too."A 5 year long war.A region of crisis ever since Brigadier Erwin Smith could think of.The Royal Crown's Army heavily weakened, the defeat already looming over them.Teaming up with a mysterious man known as the Taigan Lynx, Brigadier Smith attains the necessary means to change the course of war in their favour.However, things don't turn out as expected, and the discovery they make is even worse than the threat of Brigadier Smith and his close men being proclaimed traitors to the crown and executed.





	To Achieve Justice

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Victorian Era-like AU I've had for the longest of time. Finally it sees the light of the day. Yay!

The mist spread over the land like a thick blanket, creeping through the sparse trees to create the illusion of safety for a few moments longer. The ground under his feet is damp due to the melting snow which luckily wasn’t heavy this year. Still, his boots slightly sink into the mud even as he walks carefully, all his senses sharp, his mind alert. It’s not long before dawn would crack the sky and lift the veil of darkness. Yet as it seems, the mist will remain as it did in the last few days they have been stationed here, so he doubts someone could spot him from afar. According to what he has been told about this region somewhere along the border with the neighbouring country, only a native inhabitant of the plane of Utopia – a rather ironic name – would possess the ability to sense him sneaking around. As the majority of them have either fled or been killed, Erwin Smith believes himself to be at least partially safe.

His comrades didn’t dare step out this far into unknown region where bears and grey wolves are the least of the dangers they could potentially encounter. The swamps are nature’s best trap they already lost 5 cadets to, and expecting another attack, the third batch of the Royal Crown’s army didn’t stray from the set camp. Protecting the injured comrades, they like to tell, but Erwin feels the uncertainty they withheld after recent events, preventing further orders from being made.

So it’s his turn to go outside and fetch them, in order to be one step ahead of the enemy, whichever it was.

Leaving major general Mike Zacharias in the care of the captive mute, Erwin hoped to finish his business before his absence gets noticed, or at least to be there once his friend regains consciousness.

 “If no infections happen, he’ll survive, although it’s hard to say if his physical capabilities will remain unchanged”, the only doctor they had left disclosed the morning after the failed operation. “What a pity”, he shook his head, “Our best man.”

The tone of accusation didn’t escape Erwin’s ear.

Better care wasn’t attainable in their circumstances. In the endphase of the war, the lack of medication and medical equipment took more lives than the battles itself, infections a constant fear for every wounded soldier. Cornered by current affairs, the two individuals they came across in the night of the failed operation - father and son - were assigned to their respective tasks as war captives. Once spotted, they had no chance of escaping, and as the boy showed Erwin his badge with the Red Cross – proof of an attained medical assistant certificate, specific for war times – Erwin was torn on whether to silence them on the spot or reward them in gold. Offering Mike first aid, he was safe to be carried to the medical tents of their camp, the boy’s father a welcomed help. Tall and sturdy, he was assigned to the lodger unit.

 “For the time being, you’ll have to serve us”, the pair of them listened closely, “The decision over your fate will be made depending on where your loyalty lies.”

“Understood”, the man replied for both.

The cap the boy wore slipped to shield his amber eyes.

 

 

With a careless step, his heel sinks into the damp ground deep enough for concern to arise. Did he drift off from his path? If so, how far? Raising the collar of his coat a bit higher to protect himself from the cold breeze, he narrows his gaze to examine his surroundings once more in an attempt to recognize the meeting spot both agreed on.

His frozen fingers fumble with his pocket watch longer than usual, having difficulties opening it. He might be running late and his informer surely wouldn’t be pleased with having to wait.

If the Taigan Lynx shows up at all, that is.

Carefully tiptoeing ahead, Erwin releases a long exhale. There is no turning back at this point. He’ll have to gamble and trust the Taigan Lynx. In the process, he has to gain his trust as well if his assumptions turn out to be true.

 “Congratulations! You fucked up, _Mr. Brigadier_.”

The flat voice resonates through the mist before the dark cloaked figure emerged in a manner that reminds Erwin of a ghost the rich folklore of this region told.

The intense grey pierces right through him, stopping him right in his tracks with an unpleasant tingle down his spine. It occurred to him before and it does again: those eyes and movements as he steps closer to face him remind Erwin more of a grey wolf than of a lynx. Oozing with unspoken danger, he studies his potential prey with a hint of anger – surely expected on the Brigadier’s part. Beneath the scarf covered mouth, he senses the sharp canines dripping with drool.

Erwin straightens his posture and smiles a rather sour smile.

“I beg to differ, Mr. Ackerman.”

The rims lined with dark lashes narrow over the grey by the mention of _that_ name.

A cold breeze sweeps between them, tugging at the dark cape’s hem to reveal the man’s bare hands. Erwin nods to this, satisfied of having at least one point of the agreement unbroken. Motioning to his own belt his weapon is attached to, Erwin feels as if he owes his informant an explanation.

“To keep any more suspicions from arising, I had to bring it along.”

The man quirks a brow while observing the gun.

“No problem. Still no match to my abilities.”

It’s a threat the Brigadier pretends not to hear, fully aware of whom he is dealing with. Having seen him in action was a confirmation enough of all the rumours he has heard before. Every doubt he has had about the existence of the Taigan Lynx was dismissed when faced with the living proof. It wasn’t hard to realize how what benefit it was having this man as a friend than a foe. Adding his interesting _history_ to his skills, Erwin Smith didn’t need to ponder much on a decision. He isn’t a man to say no to a business that’s both serving a purpose and profitable.

In this case, for both.

They walk in silence to their meeting point, the Lynx going ahead on light feet dismissing every obstacle the Brigadier faces. His boots are dirty, his long uniform coat might be too, yet he keeps his spine straight and once they reach the line of the trees, firmly demands the report.

Not quite facing him, the Lynx pulls a neatly folded stack of papers from the inner pocket of his cloak and hands it wordlessly over. After a moment of silence, Erwin accepts the offered item, lightly brushing the other man’s knuckles in the process. Immediately, he pulls his hand away into the safety of his cloak, lips pressed in a line.

So, that’s his understanding of a report.

The Brigadier opens the stack and casts a quick glance towards it, seeing the doctor’s report, the documents he requested and the additional handwritten notes. As a man who has undergone a full military training, he looks at the Lynx expectantly, his impatience concealed. Sensing the mute attention, the Lynx returns his gaze with furrowed brows, the stretch of silence long enough to become uncomfortable.

The inquiry still rests on the Brigadier’s face, and in his trained on position with a back straight as an arrow and chin high, the Lynx thinks to get the hint. _Oh_.

 “Berner’s dead”, he announces then, carefully watching the movements of the man’s facial muscles.

Confirmed in his fears, Erwin tightens his hold on the papers, and for a split second, his jaw seemed tense. Yet the tone of his voice remains unaffected when he asks one more question, “And his wife? How is her condition?”

“The doc said she’ll push through”, he offered sparcely.

The mere memory of the stench her husband’s corpse emitted makes his stomach twist in disgust. He’s been around and seen more than any of his comrades could imagine, but the stench was something entirely new.

Most likely induced by chemicals or some fuck like that.

 “The damage of Mrs. Berner. How bad is it?”, Erwin presses on, the lack of time to mourn over a close comrade palpable in the freezing air of the Utopian plane. Moblit’s front was caught by the blast and they were all aware of how likely this outcome was. No official burial, no military honours. Officially, Moblit Berner died by a stray bullet and his corpse was mutilated by wild animals. The leftovers from the animal’s meal were welcomed by the swamp, greedily swallowing every offered corpse.

 At times of war, lives are expendable, and sometimes one has to convince themself into believing it to be a fact. This defence mechanism of the human mind long befriended.

His only consolation is that the stand in for Moblit had no family. The youngster, barely 18 years old, was an orphan who has had no other option than joining the military.

Falke was his name.

“It’s all there”, the Lynx points at the papers, irritation tugging on his vocal chords, “I thought good boys like you can read.”

“Her eye is lost, huh?”, he questions, and the Lynx nods. The Adam’s apple bobs in Erwin’s throat just above his coat’s collar. No matter how cruel her fate, it gave her an advantage. With an eyepatch and a brief style change, she won’t be recognizable. Like that she will be safe and the events smoothed out. Only afterwards will grief and guilt be dealt with.

“Proceed with the set plan”, he orders after a brief break, “Mrs. Berner’s safety is of top priority now. I’ll handle the rest.”

The Taigan Lynx peers up to him, the crease between his brows gaining depth with the knotting of his arms over the surprisingly board torso for such a short stature. Their exhales manifest in vapour and a few seconds later disappear, similar to the curve of the Lynx’ lip Erwin knows is there, but cannot see. The Lynx turns to face him fully.

Still as stone, Erwin holds his gaze. Unyielding.

“Top priority? You… Brigadier Smith”, he begins, spitting his rank and name as a serious insult, eyeing him for a moment.

“Is something the matter, Lynx?”, he challenges, cold as stone.

The man scoffs. “What’s with that comrade of yours? Y’know, that with the fancy medals.”

He quirks a brow holding his gaze.

“Major general Mike Zacharias is taken proper care of”, he assures in a stern voice, making the Lynx roll his eyes at the mention of his rank. Those things don’t impress him, stupid ranks and shiny medals holding no power nor meaning to a man like him.  After all, he’s not a part of their shallow world. And wild as he is, he can’t help but prove it.

“Good for you, I guess. One life less to weigh on your conscience”, he murmurs into the mist, tongue dripping with bitter irony masked.

Everyone has a sore point. You only need to discover it.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Ackerman?”, Erwin inquires so terrifyingly calm, so polite as if he were talking to one of his higher ups, purposely addressing him by his real name.

Like it’s speech of respect and equality.

The grey eyes flash with a low growl.

 “Don’t give me that noble shit, you sorry excuse of a Brigadier!”, the man snaps, for a moment heightening his tone. With the slight raise of Erwin’s palm and his gaze quickly scanning the surrounding area, he drops it back to his normal volume, “How come you made it out of that shit without a scratch, huh, while your best men are injured, one dead?,” pointing a rough skinned finger at him, the Lynx proceeds, “Whatever you’re pulling, Smith, if you make me regret selling you the info, your head will roll!”

Nostrils flaring, he tenses his shoulders in the expectation of the Brigadier’s reaction. Even if he wasn’t this close to him, he could clearly see the shadow crossing his face, his vision adjusted enough to this godforsaken wasteland.

The plan was waterproof. With the suspicion Erwin had and secret information the Lynx could dig up, the course of war could be changed entirely. Every measure of caution was taken for the operation Factory to be successful. The Taigan Lynx was close by the presumably abandoned building they went ahead of their batch to survey, observing closely just in case something would go wrong.

And so it did.

“I assure you, Mr. Ackerman, you won’t regret it”, he answers evenly, wondering what could be worse: hanging on the gallows in Mitras’ main town square or dying by the hand of the Lynx.

As if the prospect of dying in the next battle wasn’t real enough. His status quo is simple: he didn’t have much to lose, and it was ridiculous in an odd way. He has to bite back a smile.

 “You do realize what ‘ur fuck up means for all the folks involved, don’t ya, Mr. Brigadier?”, the Lynx questions, balling his hands into fists.

Of course he does. The images flashed vividly in his mind as he watched over a feverish Mike, clearly seeing the families of the executed soldiers struggling in front of his inner eye, their children starving, with no one to turn to or be offered help from. No one helps the shameful ones - the traitors – so may their offspring die as well.

At least Hanji would be safe under a new identity the Lynx would provide, as well as all the other necessities required for a halfway comfortable life. He owes her that much, for her unyielding loyalty, for her expertise that nearly cost her her head. She has done more than enough.

Regardless of the weight of his thoughts, unmoved Erwin stands his ground in front of the Taigan Lynx, the most dangerous man in a lawless region who could easily get away with his murder. Fine, he could have his head if it solved anything for him, but not yet.

“I do. That is why we will turn the situation to our advantage. With combined strengths.”

Impressed against his will, the informant drops his gaze to the frozen fingers of the Brigadier, rough skinned and white knuckled, cramping the edges of the papers.

 “No shit?”, he challenges, a lazy smirk twisting his lips, “You believe you’ll get your ass saved?”

To this Erwin simply nods.

“How optimistic”, he mocks, trained by his environment to see things differently than Smith does.

But again, he’s a rich boy from the capital, used to an entirely different life, one of leisure and safety. The Lynx wonders for a moment with how much has he gotten away with until now only because of his status as everyone’s darling of the high society.

What a sight it would be to see their powdered faces contort in shock over their darling Smith being proclaimed a traitor to the crown.

“I’d rather call it a matter of trust”, Erwin half laughs into the distance, then turns to look at his informant with the faintest of smiles still dancing on his lips.

The bags under his eyes have darkened, and under the brightening sky, the Lynx could spot the light stubble spreading on the Brigadier’s cheeks down to slightly above his collar. Grunting in annoyance, he looks to the point of his boots, muddied and pointed towards his.

“Is that so?”, he nods, looking up to him with a foreign glint in the silver, “Then, make sure you invite me to that ridiculous looking manor of yours. You owe me the best tea you can afford served on your finest porcelain, as it fits my end of the deal. Got that, fuckface?”

 Amused by the prospect, Erwin bares his teeth, which appear so impossibly straight to his informant.

“It would be an honour to have my afternoon tea with the only rightful heir to the Yarkell dutchy. I’ll hold you to your word, Duke Ackerman.”

“And I’ll hold you to yours, fuckface.”

“Excellent. As soon as the war is over, I’ll give you your rightful place and your title back, with the expectancy of this cooperation to continue.”

Caught off guard for a moment, the Taigan Lynx knots his brows in confusion. His attentive ears could not detect even the barest of hints of mockery, and his expression, although tired, appeared sincere. As if they were pals.

He crosses his arms firmly over his chest.

 “Again. What are you trying to pull, Erwin?”, he questions cautiously, not truly getting this man. Albeit being no noble, he achieved enough in the wars he fought to gain respect and a nice social standing, apart from the wealth the Smith family owned for generations. As such a man, associating with a noble’s cast out bastard son, who happens to be an infamous criminal, wasn’t flattering at all for his already targeted ass.

Perhaps this guy got off on trouble.

“Justice”, he returns instantly, stance open and unwavering.

“Tch. Let’s achieve justice by proclaiming you a traitor. You played into the Crown’s hands, idiot. By hanging you, they’ll solve all their problems in one go.”

“Not so soon, Mr. Ackerman. I refuse to be hanged before we share a cup of tea together at home.”

“Huh?”, the Lynx parts his lips in question Erwin does not hurry to answer.

In this place, so bare and unforgiving, the warmth of his smile resembles the rising sun on the horizon, one he hasn’t seen in days.

That’s how the winter in the taiga was ever since he escaped into her cold arms.

And when it does dawn on him, the speed of his tongue surpasses the one of his brain, so he blurts, “You have a plan.”

Erwin leans against the tree, appearing even taller than before, a glint of hope lighting up his eyes.

“You know what you have to do from now on. I’ll rely on your sense of honor, Mr. Ackerman.”

“Sense of honour, my ass. I’m a criminal, for fuck’s sake.”

 “May I be blunt with you?”

To this question, the Lynx just stares, the annoyance making his eyebrows twitch. Yet Erwin does not proceed until his informant allows him to.

“Spit it out.”

A moment of silence before reality crashes down.

 “Someone was there, Levi”, he finally admits in a low voice, “Someone knew of our operation and was quick to intervene.”

A lone bird crosses the light horizon, removing itself from the heavy silence settling between the two men. On instinct, Levis hands curl in tight fists, and tight-lipped he stares, expecting more. Without having to ask, Erwin grants it.

“None of my men caused the explosion as it would endanger the required discretion. The plan was to investigate the building and eventually take samples if we happened to find something of interest. However, someone was a step ahead of us and blew up the factory.”

“To destroy evidence”, the Lynx nodded in conclusion.

“Exactly”, the Brigadier follows suit, “Mike sensed the oncoming explosion due to the nitro-glycerine odour, and warned us accordingly. I rushed outside to hand over the samples we could gather. However, Moblit and Hanji stayed behind, most likely making an important discovery.”

_A discovery more important than their lives?_

What could possibly be more important than the own life, the Lynx wonders, having fought hard to maintain it in the wilderness of high society as well as in the wilderness of the boreal forest, and in the process, he took other’s lives as well. Kill or be killed, it’s a rule he learnt early on, the knowledge a double edged sword.  Now, faced with this bunch ready to sacrifice their lives – what for? - , he’s at loss of words.

“Once the samples are examined, the results will be sent to me. We’ll have our answers then, Levi, and the suspects.” Taking another breath, he adds, almost whispering: “The possibility of us having the same enemy is high.”

“I’m what they call the Taigan Lynx, Smith. I have numerous enemies”, he brushes off the implication of the Brigadier’s words, the mere possibility being hinted at alarming him.

“I understand as much. Although, if I might say”, the Lynx recognises the playful tone threaded through his words, “you are more of a wolf than a lynx. At least to me.”

All he can do is stare, and after feeling the heat rushing up the tips of his ears, scoff to save his pride.

“You can’t charm me, Smith. So”, he casts him an amused glance, “what do you have in mind?”

“How close can you get to the camp and remain unnoticed?”

At this the Lynx raises his brows but doesn’t ask any more questions.

 

\--

 

The tristesse of the raw landscape surrounding them showed off its full glory when Brigadier Erwin Smith took a different route back to the camp. The rain expectancy for tonight is high, the Lynx believed, and the traces they left will be lost in the mud.  In the distance, the bright fur of a red fox catches his eye, an odd sight against the bland greys and blues, and his gaze lingers as the animal heads towards the east, away from Erwin and the conflict he participates in.

Freedom of choice is a gift granted exclusively to the lucky ones.

Hand closing over the papers hidden in his coat, he nods in the chill air, paying silent respect to every soldier that paved this road he was taking. To all the great men so ruthlessly sacrificed. One day it will come to a halt. One day. Eventually. Hopefully.

“Brigadier Smith!”, a cadet ran towards him as soon as he reached the camp’s ground. His upper lip, barely dusted with thin hairs, clutches onto the lower one as he waves with a letter.

 “Sir! A letter for you! Of private nature!”, he puffs his chest out while handing it over, intimidated by the brigadier’s rank and status. Thanking him, Erwin tucks the letter safely into his coat, feigning low interest for the envelope sealed with a kiss. The red lipstick is enough to fuel the cadets’ daydreams, directing them further away from the truth and the real sender.

Slowly, the figures gather on the checkerboard, waiting for his right move.

 However, he needed to see Mike first, and then decide on the strategy’s fineries.

The row of medical tents stretches beside the row of barely leaved trees, giving the overwatch a position of advantage. The least expected one being out of hearing range of all the painful moans and feverish stammering, or worse, yells in the face of death. Just as he walks by the second tent, the tension from inside reaches to him carried by the nurses’ shouts and the doctor’s commands to hand him everything they lacked.

Even before the soldier is officially proclaimed dead, Erwin thinks of the Lynx’ words and their irony. The number is only rising from day to day, and all he can do is give them their highly deserved meaning.

So when he pulls back the flap of the fifth tent and enters, an exhale of relief leaves his lungs.

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, the Mute jumps from where he was bent at Mike’s feet to tuck them under the covers. A memory from their training days flashes in his mind, the one of their second year as bunkmates when puberty long began and no cover or quilt could fit the entirety of Mike anymore. Those were the days of starry-eyedness, of playing war and dreaming of becoming heroes.

Once the first bullet penetrates the flesh and the soldier falls face first into the mud, the reality dawns as a dead winter day in the taiga.

 “At ease, boy”, Erwin raises his palm, “I came to ask about his condition.”

Outstretched on the narrow bed, major general Mike Zacharias appeared even bigger than he did standing.  The rise and fall of his chest evened out, the mop of hair carefully pushed back off his face revealing the forehead sweat has dried off of. The signature facial hair untrimmed for days added to his age and condition. But he was better, a lot better. Unconsciously, Erwin relaxed.

With his shoulders high up his ears, the boy steps closer and the Brigadier opens his palm. His thin index finger protrudes from the long sleeve, drawing letter by letter there, forming the answer.

  _“He opened his eyes for a brief moment.”_

“Did he say something?”

The nod of his head swayed the oversized cap down to his eyebrows.

“ _Water.”_

“Nothing else?”, Erwin asks again, expectantly gazing into the amber clashing with the grey of the scarf the boy had pulled to his nose. That makes it harder to read his small face. Still, he’s too pale - almost unhealthy looking - to be one of _them_ , yet a measure of caution needed to be contained.

The Mute responds with a shake of his head, waiting for the next order. The obedience he displays is pleasing, so Erwin thanks him with a smile he only acknowledges with another nod, and then retreats to Mike’s side in swift steps. The bandages on his injured shoulder and upper arm were clean and fresh. The old ones, abandoned on the ground, were gathered neatly with the stains remaining inwards. All too aware of Erwin’s gaze, the boy is tense, a tiny bit clumsy with the attention cast on him, obviously unused to working while being watched. He tries hard not to look at him, amber eyes fixed on the contaminated material, pale fingers grasping on the few clean places left on them.

 “If your work here is done for now, you can help out in the other tents. I will be by Mike’s side for an hour”, Erwin helps by dismissing him, allowing him to leave the tent in order to dispose of the waste. He knows the Mute wouldn’t test his limits nor the patience of the officers, the past days evidence enough, but the air of mystery doesn’t leave the pair of war captives.

“Also”, he proceeds, “I need you to inform me about the guards of the lodger unit. I assume you know where your father works today, so take a look. By looks alone I can tell who it was”, he assures, careful not to mock the boy’s disability.

His cap sways again as he nods, and with the stained material in his hands, he heads towards the exit, where he slows down again, side eying the unconscious soldier one more time. Then, he slips through the flap like a shadow, a hindrance for Erwin’s view to follow the tall figure clad in a ridiculously big jacket.

Gaining a small sense of privacy, Erwin sits back on the log at Mike’s side, pulling the papers and the received letter out without much rustle. Shielded by his body and with the advantage of sitting at his uninjured shoulder, he opens the medical report of Hanji Berner’s condition, concerned about the rest of her injuries. A head wound, the left eye lost, 2nd degree burns on her torso and arms, 3 broken ribs, and several glass splinters needed to be removed. No need for invasive surgeries nor were serious internal wounds sustained. The proof of Moblit being the most honourable of all of them is right there: the vow he gave Hanji was earnest and he held onto it until his last breath. He didn’t fail the closest to him, which neither he nor Mike couldn’t claim.

Hearing footsteps outside of the tent, he quickly slides the papers under Mike’s cover, closely listening. One of the four men Erwin counted by the footsteps, says something, to which another responds with a dry laugh. Another voice makes a comment walking on, and once they are out of hearing range, Erwin pulls the requested documents out, quickly scanning the content. The Lynx did a much better job than expected, Erwin smiles to himself, giving him the right weapons in his hands with the handwritten additional notes and a map. It’s sketchy, not nearly as neat as the correspondences he usually has, but with some effort, he could decipher what the Lynx wanted to convey.

With a grin Erwin imagines Nanaba’s coded messages written by Lynx’ hand, wondering if anyone could ever decipher them. They would surely make a good team.

Patting Mike’s healthy shoulder, he whispers, “Just hang in there, Mike. We’ll have this sorted out soon.”

The rough drafts of possible plans don’t need another push. Their birth begins as on cue, but it’s Nanaba’s message that will decide which one they’ll settle on and execute.

Breaking the red lipstick seal, he carefully splays out the letter, taken aback by the absence of the neat and elegant handwriting. Splotches of ink here and there displayed the urgency the letter was written in. As Field Marshal Pixis’ youngest daughter, her sharp wits were to be expected, but this time however none of her usual codes were needed. There was another one written in blue ink, one that would rather fall in Hanji’s field of expertise. And after all the years spent together, Erwin has a clue, can comprehend the message and its underlying meaning, causing cold sweat to break out.

On the checkerboards there aren’t only black and white fields.

Grey ones hid under them too.

 

\--

 

Out in the wilderness where the nearest settlement was located 12 km west from there, the camp the soldiers set up haphazardly didn’t contain the necessary facilities for responsible medical work. It’s only for a few days, they said, until new orders are received and the 9th batch of the Royal Crown’s army caught up. Until then, the contaminated medical material could only be burnt in the same bonfire a young soldier, to save his friend’s only remain he could gather from the battlefield – a severed arm – form the dark depths of the swamp, threw in. The scent of burnt flesh and bones spread its haunting arms over the camp, reaching the Mute who hid in the major general’s tent, tending to him, wiping the sweat off of his forehead in a futile attempt to ignore how the scent squeezed his throat until his vision blurred and sobs fought to escape his chest.

The boy throws the bandages into it, and soon the odour of blood, pus and sweat are replaced with the one of smoke. On his heel he turns, peering from over the pulled up scarf to the horizon, mirroring the soldiers’ demeanour towards him. At first it was mild curiosity, now it’s just ignorance. They had matters of a greater importance to take care of, the Mute – amber eyed! – not worth more than the dirt under their nails.

The cracking sound of a tree’s body echoes through the flat plane of Utopia, and just a breath later, the Mute spots it falling south from the camp, in the sparce remnants of the boreal forest. He runs off to them, careful to land his feet into solid ground, moving around like a squirrel. From behind, he hears a few soldiers laugh and he knows he looks ridiculous. But as he’s a mute, it shouldn’t matter, as nothing matters anymore anyway.

Sweat formed in his armpits and he comes to a halt, catching his breath and watching them from the distance, but near enough to recognize the necessary features of the officers in uniforms and riffles on their backs. Seated on logs each, they watched over the hardworking men, swinging the blunt axes again and again, until one more tree fell. Peeking to get a look at the soldier’s faces, the Mute crosses eyes with his father whose axe lands hard into the wood.  The tired and angry look on his face disheartens him, so he drops his head, burying his nose in his scarf. Snatching his axe from the wood, the man turns away, continuing his work unaffected, his next hit cracking a tree trunk open.

The Mute runs all the way back, careless of the mud, the slight slips of his feet, the caught tears in his throat. He is still standing upwards, still running, he still is –

 

\--

 

“Oh, Brigadier Smith!”, one of the nurses whispers upon entering the tent. “My apologies, I didn’t know you were here.”

“It’s alright, Marlene”, the Brigadier smiles at the familiar face, “I came to check up on Mike.”

Looking around the tent, the middle aged woman questions: “Where is the Mute?”

“I sent him to the lodger unit; I had a message to convey to the overwatch.”

Nodding, she walks towards Mike, explaining her visit in a low voice. “He changed the bandages earlier while I had lots of work on my hands, so I came to see if he’s it done properly.”

Pulling the covers back, she examines them narrow eyed. Then she hums in approval and straightens the covers over the injured officer again.

“Who thought such a strange boy could be of help”, she wonders openly looking at the Brigadier, “What will happen with him after the 9th batch arrives?”

“It depends”, he replies vaguely, offering Marlene a sympathetic look.

“We can always use a pair of helping hands, you know. I know he’s a captive”, she hurries to correct herself, “but we have only 7 nurses left and… we are losing, aren’t we, Brigadier Smith?”

She drops to the ground, her apron stained by blood and hair unwashed for days. Erwin couldn’t give promises to smooth the deep wrinkles around her eyes and return the color in the entirely greyed hair. There is no information about the medical staff of the 9th batch, of how many doctors and nurses they had left. They have barely time to eat and sleep, many of them already broken under the horrors of the war, discharged or suicided. Marlene wasn’t far from it, Erwin could tell by the hollowness of her eyes, so close to giving up. On everything, her own life included.

“Not yet. We have a chance, Marlene. Once the reinforcement arrives, this nightmare will end. Soon we will be going home, Marlene. Very soon.”

The woman closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Smiles.

A few moments later, she slumps forward onto Mike’s bed, resting her forehead against it. Exhaustion caught her and he allows it, as sleep is the only comfort he could offer, perhaps the one she needed the most.

 

\--

 

Once outside, he steps into the open land, a vast expanse of wild beauty and secrets deep and dark as the swamps, with dangerous creatures lurking from every corner ready to sink their teeth into the prey, ready traps concealed where no one would suspect them.

A tap on his shoulder announces the presence of the Mute, ready to report on his palm with his cold finger.

Instead of the letters, Brigadier Erwin Smith sees the chess figures located onto their respective squares, all geared up and ready for the final advance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Find me on [tumblr](https://tserpillum.tumblr.com/) where the ask box is open anytime.


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